


A Swordsman's Virtue

by Gothams_Only_Wolf



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: 5+1 Things, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Death, BAMF Cloud Strife, Beserker!Cloud, Cetra!Cloud, Except Hojo deserves it, Hojo dies, Hojo is six feet under, Knives, M/M, Multi, Nibelheim (Compilation of FFVII), Nibelheim Traditions, Original Character Death(s), Sort of inspired by Edge of Tommorrow, Vincent Valentine Is Sephiroth's Parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28219959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gothams_Only_Wolf/pseuds/Gothams_Only_Wolf
Summary: In Nibelheim, a swordsman is defined not by his deeds but by his patience.In order to instill this, a swordsperson must first pick up a needle and embroider.Do not forget the needle.It is important.Five times someone learned of Cloud's extraordinary aim and the one time it shocked everyone
Relationships: Aerith Gainsborough & Hojo, Angeal Hewley & Cloud Strife, Cloud Strife & Tseng, Genesis Rhapsodos & Cloud Strife, Jenova & Cloud Strife, Sephiroth & Cloud Strife, Sephiroth & Vincent Valentine, Zack Fair & Cloud Strife, Zack Fair/Angeal Hewley/Genesis Rhapsodos/Sephiroth, Zack Fair/Angeal Hewley/Genesis Rhapsodos/Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Comments: 179
Kudos: 653





	1. Marksmanship of the Knife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm scratching the ID but I'm hoping it's worth it! 
> 
> Enjoy!~
> 
> **A Note: Cloud starts out nearly the same age as Zack and hits his canon Crisis Core age of twenty by the time Genesis's part rolls around.**
> 
> Inspired by this Tumblr post: https://bamfcoyotetango.tumblr.com/post/637633519504523264/invisible-goats-jessicameats-i-reblogged-a-post

* * *

In Nibelheim, a swordsman is defined not by his deeds but by his patience.

In order to instill this, a swordsperson must first pick up a needle and thread.

Do not forget the needle. 

It is important.

* * *

Patience was in short supply at ShinRa, Cloud found, and kindness even shorter. 

As a swordsman, he was obliged to fill the gap and so—through manners and a stubbornness matched only by Nibel Dragons—he carved a niche for himself among the Infantry.

* * *

****

**I.**

* * *

He technically wasn't down there to see the Infantry practice marksmanship. Zack's new duties as a Third rarely took him back to his old stomping grounds. 

He paused, cocked his head to the side at the sight of throwing knives strapped to a fairly small leg. The Infantryman was practically bristling with them. 

"Oi, Strife, you done playing with your food?" Sgt. Gosser, the nametape read.

"I'm not playing, Sgt.," the target of Sgt. Gosser's wrath protested. 

"The fuck you aren't; I've seen you nail a fly at less than thirty paces with those damn things." 

"I'm sorry, Sgt., I can't quite get the mechanics of it," Strife adjusted his stance, fired with both eyes open and missed the target and hit the building next to it. 

Zack slapped a hand over his mouth to keep his guffaw in because the Sgt. _had_ pointed out that Strife's aim was killer with the knives. 

He kept firing and missing, even with the adjustments of nearly every Sgt. on the field, the poor fellow. 

Finally Strife snarled, gently set the gun down with reverence and drew the knives. Every single target he'd missed with the gun in hand was now pincushioned with at least five knives per target, even the one at a cool five hundred feet. 

Where the gun had been like granite in his hands, the knives appeared artless, lending him a grace that wove through his frame. 

Why in the Hells wasn't Strife in the Program? 

"I can hit every target, just not like ShinRa wants me to, Sgt. Gosser." The quiet assurance in his abilities was belied by the way the Sgt. eyeballed the bristling knives still buried deep within the _steel targets_. 

"You know what, fuck it," the Sgt. threw his hands up. "That counts for your marksmanship. There are **_five fucking knives where one bullet would be_** , I consider you an expert at aiming with everything **but** a gun." 

"... Thank you, Sgt. Gosser." 

"Why you're not in the fucking Program is beyond me, Corporal..." Gosser grumbled as he flicked his hand into Infantry signs that the range was closed. "Go get your knives, you little gremlin." 

"Yes, Sgt!" Strife agreed with a grin and a proper salute. "It's because I'm too young, Sgt. Gosser, even though General Sephiroth was already in the program at the age of fifteen!" 

"Too young my ass, they were fucking _terrified of you_ ; when are you taking the Exam again so you can get out of my hair?" The Sgt. fired back warmly, fondness creeping into his tone as Strife collected, cleaned and sheathed all of his knives in under five minutes. 

"In another three months, Sgt. Gosser! I'll clean the rifle, Sgt., have it prepped for the next guy?" 

"Yeah, yeah, get out of my sight," 

"Can do Sarge~"

Zack kinda wanted to be friends with the little shit.

* * *

Zack certainly didn't expect to see Corporal Strife again and certainly not up so high in HQ. 

What surprised him wasn't the pile of knives by the secretarial desk on Floor 73, it was the embroidery needle in Strife's capable hands. 

He was stitching slowly, the design that came to life under his guidance absolutely stunning and tightly woven. 

Zack wanted to _know_ and therefore his curiosity drove him over to say hello. 

"Hi! Whatcha making?" 

"Hmm?" The helmet's headphone light blinked and then Strife pulled it off in one go, knocking the breath out of Zack's lungs. 

Blue eyes were framed by long lashes, long spikes of wispy blond and Zack suddenly remembered to breathe. 

"I asked what you were making," he repeated a little breathlessly. 

The tiny furrow that appeared between Strife's brows was adorable but Zack squashed it ruthlessly. "Armor, sir." 

Zack blinked, looked down and oh, that made sense now. 

"I'm not a sir," he blurted, "I'm not even old enough to warrant one! I'm Zack!" 

The long lashes covered the blue for a moment. 

Zack waited with an uncharacteristic patience for them to look up again. "... Corporal Strife, sir." 

"Noooo, it's Zack! C'mon you can't be that much younger than me," his tongue stuck out as he rummaged around in his brain, "I just turned seventeen!" 

Strife glanced up at him briefly and then murmured, "Congratulations, it must have been recent enough that it took you a moment to remember, sir." 

Something in Zack made him tease and he ribbed, "Says the eighty year old in front of me." 

_That_ got Strife to squawk and Zack lit up as he found a nickname, "I am not, sir!" 

"You sure there?" 

"... I'm sixteen," Strife volunteered flatly, "sir." 

"Okay, now you're just using malicious compliance with me, man, and that's just patently unfair," he pouted, leaning over so that he was looking Strife in the eye. 

"Big words for a Puppy," Strife fired back and now it was Zack's turn to yelp in indignation. 

"Hey! I'm not a puppy!" 

"Could've fooled me, sir, with the hands too big for your frame and the feet to match," here there was a faint smile tugging at the edges of slightly chapped lips and Zack leapt for the opportunity. 

"You're just like a Cactuar; sweet but spikey—Ah ha." 

"Sir, do _not_ —" Strife warned sharply. 

"Gonna keep calling you Spikey until you stop 'sir-ing' me cause we're like, literally, a year apart. C'mon, say it with me, Zaaaack." 

Strife's left eye twitched but Zack sensed he was close to winning at least one battle. He had an idea that he'd never win the war but he'd give as good as he got in the meantime, godsdammit. 

"Say my name and I'll stop bothering you for a moment~" he coaxed in a wheedling tone. 

"Sure thing," the smile that Zack was blessed with turned out to be short-lived as he felt a jab to the side of his neck, "Zack." 

He dropped to the floor, frozen for a moment before he processed what happened to him. Strife packed up his embroidery with a practiced flick of his hands. " _Heeeeey!_ " 

"Watch the hands, not my face next time, sir." came the reply as Strife hit a different nerve and sensation came flooding back as pins and needles. 

"Aww, now that's just cheating Spikey!" 

"My name isn't Spikey," 

"I'm gonna keep calling you that!" Zack promised as he peeled himself off the floor and up onto his feet again. 

Swaying, he internally swore a prank war with Strife.

* * *

****

**II.**

* * *

Tseng had heard the rumors, of course. 

The Infantryman who wanted to be in SOLDIER but was too young to apply. 

The terrifying skill with throwing knives at a distance that would give even a SOLDIER pause. 

He observed Strife as he practiced, noted the grounded stance and then huffed in faint surprise as Strife's feet left the ground. 

He spun and flipped, nowhere near the speed of a SOLDIER but enough to give the unenhanced quite a bit of trouble. 

As a Turk, that speed would be deadly—

Tseng barely dodged the knife as it swept past his hair and buried itself deep into the wood. 

Strife threw in succession, missing by a mere _shred_ due to Tseng's minor enhancements. 

The last one nicked his suit, snapping the threads that held the shoulder to the body. It split open soundlessly as he felt the other one fall as well. 

"Who are you and what do you want." Strife stated as he retrieved the blades, cleaning them and inspecting for damage. 

Tseng noticed that there wasn't any and inquired, "What are they made of?" 

"They're Nibel mythril, forged under the light of the full moon and blessed by Fenrir." Blue eyes narrowed as he took in Tseng's cut sleeves. "You didn't answer me." 

Mythril blades were rarer than armor, mostly due to the fact that the material in question was hard to mine. "I work for the Department of Administration. I'm sure you've heard of us." 

Strife looked Tseng up, then down and snorted, "You're barking up the wrong pine." 

"... I believe the phrase is tree." He countered. "Your talent is best suited for the shadows." 

"I want burning bright spotlights," Strife sniped back, "Besides, Ma said I wasn't allowed to do wet work until I'm older. You kill people with no compunctions. At least, if I don't kill people in SOLDIER, it's an act of a conscientious objector." 

"... You're an adult by Midgar standards," 

"but not by Nibel." Strife finished, his tone bleeding with derision. "You aren't an adult if you've killed someone, you're just an untried warrior." 

"What makes an adult by Nibelheim standards?" He prodded. 

Not that ShinRa cared, necessarily, but Tseng wanted to get Strife into the Turks. The aim alone might make him put Strife on observation only missions. 

"When we finish our armor." 

"Armor," He repeated, his expression smooth for all of the confusion running deep within him. "... I see." 

"I'm most of the way through mine." Strife grimaced. "I learned that SOLDIERs don't make their own armor but that Sephiroth patched his with his field kit." 

Making their own armor? 

Color Tseng surprised; such a notion belonged more to _Wutai_ than _**ShinRa**_ but if Strife stuck to his knives, it might actually work. 

"You'd be better off with the enemy, harboring a sentiment like that," Tseng drawled. 

"I know." The way his eyes looked like glaciers in the low light sent a subtle shiver down Tseng's spine. "Wouldn't you rather I be _here_?" 

"I suppose," he replied with a raised brow. "Are you sure you don't want to join my Department? Merely to observe, of course." 

"Hmmm, no thank you." 

Tseng swore up, down and sideways on Leviathan that Strife's eyes reflected in the dark.

* * *

The needle was less of a surprise, seated as Strife was on Floor 73, a pile of knives next to him even as he traded quiet tips with one Heather Jones, Secretary to the Executives. 

The exact stitching was intricate, beautiful and, if Tseng was any judge, laced to the Hells and back with mythril threads so fine as to sparkle like spun silk. 

He observed from the balcony, keeping his distance from Strife after their first meeting. 

"Why are we avoiding Blondie, yo?" The protege asked with a slums drawl so thick it was nearly false. 

"... 'Blondie' is an accomplished and diligent throwing knife practitioner who almost killed me our first meeting. His aim is second only to SOLDIERs and Turks without enhancement." 

"That ain't the whole of it, is it boss," Reno prodded. 

Tseng decided that underneath the red, loud-mouth façade, the intuition he'd sensed upon their first meeting was working. 

"No," he watched as Strife's thread tangled into a near indecipherable mess. Jones suggested cutting it but Strife, with an infinite patience, unraveled the mess and resumed sewing. "There was something about him. Something godsblessed or godsdamned but I will not question it." 

"Like what, yo?" 

"Reflections occur in the eyes of large predators due to the tapetum lucidum. Do you think it belongs in a human?" He returned the question with one of his own. 

"Strife had it," Reno remarked and rose a red brow at the way Strife gently corrected Jones's positioning. "So we got some kind of old god nonsense going on." 

"We can only hope," 

"And if we can't hope, yo?" 

"We pray to any other god listening that Strife doesn't take up the enemy's cause."

* * *

****

**III.**

* * *

Genesis hated cold, hated wet and _definitely_ abhorred cold, wet and stuck in a cave with a squad of Infantrymen situations. 

The only good thing about the cave was that it gave him plenty of time to ogle the Sgt. the squad had come with. 

Strife, the nametape read, and somehow, he'd managed to find the cave, find somewhat dry wood and get a blaze going without the use of a Fira Materia. 

He was now coaxing everyone into eating their shitty ShinRa meals, swearing that food in the stomach was always better, even if it came back up. 

"Sir, you haven't touched your meal." The gentle tone he'd taken with Genesis was some combination of exasperation and steel hidden somewhere in the fold of it. "If you collapse on me, sir, I am in fact dragging your nice duster through the mud to get you back home in one piece." 

Genesis rocked back on his little makeshift seat and muttered, "Really, Sgt. Strife?" 

"If it gets you home, sir, I'd even pay for the jacket." came the wry response, "even if it'd take me about fifteen years worth of pay." 

"It wouldn't take fifteen," he snorted as he stirred the SOLDIER strength sludge they sent with him. Genesis took a bite, grimaced at the texture but not the warmth and continued eating. "It'll take you ten at best, though this is a family heirloom so maybe twenty-five." 

"Noted, sir," the dry reply made him smile. Strife sat between the Infantry and himself. 

"I'm not going to Fireball your hapless squad, Sgt. Strife, despite the stories saying otherwise. I reserve my fire for those who are supposed to be able to handle it." 

He finished up and tucked the trash into his inventory, a habit from the War. Leave things lying and the enemy might just trail you that way. 

"I hope you mean that, sir, because we're sharing the cave with a pair of Cuhals and they're angry."

* * *

During the mission gone absolutely FUBAR, Genesis learned a few more things about Squad Kilo and its Sgt. 

Strife was "good" with knives the same way Sephiroth was "good" with that stupidly long nodachi of his; experts of their chosen weapons. 

Seriously he should've been in the Program by now what the ever loving fuck?! Genesis thought to himself as he and Strife took the lead on yet another attack by small but intense packs of monsters. 

Strife swiped at the blood coating his helmet after the latest battle, hissed in disgust and pulled it off entirely. 

Genesis almost swallowed his dry tongue at the sight Strife made. 

Blood smeared along his sharp jawline, searing blue filled with impatience as he lunged at the enemy, the helmet tossed carelessly to another Infantryman who nearly dropped the damn thing. 

Genesis caught it, tucked it into his inventory on the fly and exchanged a mutual look of absolute astonishment with said Infantryman. 

Strife was a work of art, spinning and each squall and squeal of the Mus meant there was one less of the little bastards. 

He collected the knives, wiped them down and turned to pick up his helmet, at which point the little Infantryman ratted him out and aimed a thumb at him. 

"And why do you have my helmet, sir? I tossed it to Jones." 

"Jones fumbled," Genesis found the opportunity to tease, "and I'm keeping it for insurance because it looks like you fight better without it." 

"'Insurance', sir?" 

"For my nice duster," he said, grinning as Strife blinked. 

Said duster was coated in what felt like six inches of grime, blood and mud. 

"... okay then. You keep it, sir."

* * *

He handed back the helmet shortly before ShinRa's helicopter pickup after Genesis hadn't responded for three days.

There were, he supposed, _perks_ to being a General out on stupid monster missions gone FUBAR. 

He noticed Strife go quiet and asked about the kit he'd had on him to stitch up a fellow squad member. The stitches had been practically handpainted to the skin. The Infantryman in question had been able to walk until they'd found another cave and the time for a Cura. 

"Do you keep that kit on you at all times or is it strictly for FUBAR missions?" He prodded, hoping Strife would take the bait. 

"A Nibel swordsman isn't defined by who or what he kills, sir. It's defined by his patience," Genesis handed the sick bucket over. Strife retched for a moment before he continued with a croak of, "and his ability to create, mm, his armor by hand." 

"Armor?" 

"We make our own, sir. We know the needle before the knife, the tension before the bow string, the scrape of bone before the scrape of steel and we never kill needlessly unless defending ourselves." He managed, looking less green as he talked. "I've been working on my armor since I was ten years old, sir." 

"So, what, none of ShinRa counts as a warrior to you? At all?" 

"Sephiroth does, sir, and excuse me for saying so because I know of your rivalry." 

Polite and deadly; who knew the combination existed, he thought wryly as he prodded. "Well, why?" 

"He repaired his armor, in the wake of," 

"Hakurei Valley, yeah," Genesis remembered because Sephiroth had bled into it too, having been almost taken out by a full on canon they'd picked up from a ship that had crashed ashore years ago— _No, not going there_ — "How the hell did anyone find out?" 

"The victory photos, sir, the stitching is neat but visible at the right angles." 

"The flash, huh?" 

"Yessir. The fact that he kept it afterwards was the clincher, sir. Nibel warriors pride themselves on their work and seeing it weekly in the newsletters is a reminder that I'm almost done with my armor." 

"Almost?" 

"I'm making smaller scales, sir, and they take time and patience to create so that there is no gap for a sword to come through it." 

"Just... regular thread?" 

"Armor thread is laced with mythril, sir, and spun alongside a regular fiber. So even if the natural fiber breaks, the mythril core remains," Strife admitted. "It's seen as a sign of shame to leave it though, and so we repair and replace patches over the years." 

"Is it anyone who can do this?" 

"Only those who have the patience to untangle the thread repeatedly and for those who can compete with the mountain for stubbornness," he drawled dryly, "which means that my Ma must've been made of that same stone to teach me, sir." 

"I... Does she have armor?" Genesis was hoping he wasn't overstepping with the question but so few women had made it through the SOLDIER trials that he wanted to know about other warriors. 

"Yessir and it's even better than mine. They may not like my Ma but they respect her choices." He finished as the helicopter landed, the bucket went down and Strife raced to the trashcan at the end of the strip. 

Genesis dismissed the squad and walked over to offer Strife a handkerchief as well as a pat on the back. 

"I hope you know that I now have information that I can totally use against Sephiroth for literally five-ever, thank you so much Strife." The gorgeous Sgt. Strife wiped his mouth, frowned at Genesis and opened his mouth to refute when Genesis continued, "He was born in Nibelheim. You get to keep that handkerchief and the information for free." 

He left Strife standing there, clutching the handiwork of one Silver General and cackled as Strife yelped at the stitching in the corner.

* * *

****

**IV.**

* * *

Genesis came back from his mission without his personal handkerchief, his duster absolutely filthed in and a smile that seemed to stretch for days. 

Angeal knew it wasn't good when it only got bigger when Gen spotted Sephiroth. 

"Hey Seph, I figured out why you do The Thing," he chirruped sweetly as he undressed in the half-bath of their shared space. 

Sephiroth narrowed his eyes and practically hissed at the mention of The Thing. 

The one they'd agreed was to be left alone. 

The habit Sephiroth had of stitching everything with neat little stitches that would make every tailor and sewist with ten miles cry to look at; the one where he kept a repair kit on hand for every possible incident that was clothing-related. 

Gen showered and Angeal knew part of it was to keep Seph in suspense but the other was that he smelled like the ass end of a week-old dead Behemoth. 

Sephiroth backed Gen into the wall after his shower, kissed him because he'd been away for a week and then _loomed_ because they all knew The Thing was taboo, "Explain." 

"I ran into this interesting Sgt. over in Infantry's Kilo Squad who's from the Nibel Range." Genesis wrapped his arms around Sephiroth's shoulders and then gave another kiss. "C'mere, I won't keep it from you but I want cuddles. D'you have any idea what it's like on a mission without you? Cold as fuck, that's what." 

"Hnn," Sephiroth scooped up a damp Genesis and cuddled, even pulling the couch throw down to wrap Gen in it. "Explain... please." 

"Okay, so," Genesis made grabby hands at Angeal, so he rolled his eyes and joined the cuddle pile, "Sgt. Strife is unfairly hot, first of all, so it's apparently a Nibel thing. Second, he explained to me–after the mission went to Shiva's tits–that those of the Nibel Range make their own armor. It's a sign of pride and it's made with mythril thread at its core." 

Sephiroth's breathing slowed almost to a halt and Angeal gently nudged him into breathing again. Jealousy made Seph descend into a hunting mode and they'd have to knock him out of it. 

"Anything else?" 

"Oh yeah, neat stitching is a given but not everyone can do it. According to the laws of your homeland, fixing your armor and keeping it makes you a warrior by Nibel standards. Patching is prized and seriously, you should've seen his face when I left him the handkerchief you made me-" 

Sephiroth frowned and Genesis was quick to reassure, "I'm fairly certain he'll keep it forever and in pristine condition; he's from the same mountains as you." 

"Did you catch where he was from?" Angeal prodded after Genesis soaked in their warmth for a long moment. 

"Hm-mm, he was like a minute from barfing and I was trying to distract him." Gen mentioned sleepily. "Got a name though?" 

That he had; Angeal would have to seek the Sgt. out in the morning but for now, most of their beloveds were home and safe.

* * *

He found Sgt. Strife in the mixed practice room, bristling, as Genesis had predicted, with throwing knives on both legs. 

He was also arguing with Angeal's recently promoted boyfriend, both of them gesturing fiercely. "—I'm tellin' you Spikey, I know that handiwork and it's _his_." 

Zack glanced around briefly to make sure Sephiroth wasn't in hearing range; he had the uncanny ability to _know_ when his needlework came up. 

"... The Great Silver General makes hankies."

"That's Gen's hankie though and Seph's probably pissy about it. He makes one per person he considers special, okay?" 

"How am I supposed to give it back when he said I could keep it, Zack?" 

It clicked just then, Zack's Spikey and Gen's Sgt. Strife were one and the same person. 

"Zack, a word?" He murmured and watched as Zack's head snapped around and showed relief when it was Angeal's summon instead of Sephiroth's. 

"Sorry Spikey, that's Angeal," 

"Go on, go see what else you got in trouble for this time, Puppy." 

"Hey!" 

"Go on," the wry encouragement made Angeal laugh a little. "I'll still be pincushioning the targets by the time you get back." 

"Gee, Spikey, _so supportive_ ," 

"I aim to please," 

"Pun intended, of course." Zack finished with a roll of his eyes. "What's up?" 

"It looks like your Spikey and Gen's Sgt. Strife are one and the same. Sephiroth wanted to meet with him." 

"He'd like that but he'd be flustered six ways to Sunday," Zack allowed, "maybe we build up to it?" 

"Invite him over to dinner with the two of us and if he protests, remind him that I'm merely human too. I like dinner and stupid doilys and well," 

"Human is as human does," Zack said cheerfully, "just like Seph says. Anyways, I'll bring it up but we're practicing right now because he says he hates Turks and needs someone faster than him to aim at~" 

"... I'm not sure that's safe, how about I stay to supervise?" He sighed, drawing a hand down his face. 

"Hey, Spikey! Ang is staying to supervise cause he doesn't trust me, that cool with you?" Zack hollered. 

Angeal looked up and prayed to Alexander for patience because if he asked for strength he might suplex Zack through an entire floor of ShinRa. 

Zack was lucky he was _cute_ , considering some of the shit he pulled on the daily.

* * *

It turned out that Strife was—as Genesis had so crassly put—both unfairly hot and also dangerous. 

He wondered faintly if it was strictly a Nibel thing as Zack dodged or blocked the knives thrown at him. One spun out and Angeal blocked with the Buster before he thought about it. 

Strife grinned, his eyes flashed and then he was throwing them at both of them, careful to bounce only off the blunt end of the Buster and the flat of Zack's ShinRa blade. 

The last knife Strife caught mid-throw, bounced it off his calf and sheathed the blade with a hip check before it could even scrape Angeal's hand. 

"My apologies, sir-" 

"No need to apologize," Angeal was quick to reassure, "That was some impressive work, Strife. General Rhapsodos's assessment was correct; no-nonsense knife user with a talent for it. May I inquire as to why you haven't joined the Program yet?" 

"... Did the General also mention my armor?" 

"He did," he admitted bluntly, "but I wanted to hear it from you myself. We could use your mind." 

"My mind, sir?" 

"Tactics, Strife; it takes quite a bit of brain power to figure out where to aim so that not only do you not hurt us but everyone else in the room currently practicing." Angeal pointed out as he inspected the Buster's dull side for damage. "Not to mention being able to calculate the force required not to damage another blade but enough to bounce." 

"I... Really, sir?" 

"Mm, wouldn't even need to kill anyone; hells, could probably put it in as a prohibition of yours. SOLDIERs renegotiate their contracts all the time. Did it myself not more than a couple weeks back, hence you ending up with General Rhapsodos for a while on the monster missions. I requested a few months off of them and onto the training grounds." came his rebuttal. 

"That true?" He turned to Zack for reassurance and Angeal wasn't even offended. 

"I literally did it yesterday for a Costa trip in a couple of weeks. Reactor inspection tag-a-long with Ang and Gen since I'm not high enough to go by myself but since I'm pretty much useless on the trip... Ta-da, vacay!" Their Puppy chirruped and Strife relaxed minutely. 

"I'll have to sign off but yes, there are ways around ShinRa's complex paperwork system. I heard you have an in with the Secretary to the Executives and if I were you, I'd use it." 

"But..." 

"ShinRa is all about connections. Think of it like a spider's web? Pull here and you get a weeks vacation in a place most people never get to see. Pull there and you can become a Third in under a week with a probationary trial. Zack's a great spider web puller, believe me." 

"It's only cause I breathe and make friends _everywhere_ ," 

"Including Turks," Angeal commented as he sheathed the Buster. 

"Yeah, yeah, Cessnei totally doesn't count," Zack waved him off and he snorted. "plus I know the _**ultimate**_ gossip." 

"... Kunsel?" 

"Bingo!" Zack winked and Angeal swore that Strife flushed. Oh. Hmm. Maybe interested after all...

* * *

Even being informed of the habit, it took Angeal a moment to spot Strife and Ms. Jones together tucked into a corner of the lush break floor. 

"How's my brother doing in Kilo?" She asked Strife, not looking up from her own complex design. 

"Good but he fumbled my helmet enough that General Rhapsodos picked it up instead?! And, umm, he gave me his hankie." 

"What? No way, lemme see," she tucked her needle into the untouched white cloth poking out of the tightened circle and made grabby hands. 

Strife set down his work and pulled it out of his inventory, the linen clearly pressed and taken care of after use. "Zack swears up and down that Sephiroth made it. Look at how tiny those stitches are;" Ms. Jones and Strife looked over Sephiroth's intricate work and Strife continued as they traced over it carefully, "General Rhapsodos said he was from my hometown, which, let me tell you is _wild_ because Nibelheim is-" 

"Famous for their swords, their swordsmen and their untouched, perfect eggnog." 

Strife laughed, shaking his head, "To _you_ , maybe," 

"If _**Sephiroth**_ is from your hometown then it's famous enough." 

"Point taken," the soft smile made Angeal coo a little. "Also, have you been peeking on me in the ShinRa Forge?" 

" _Maaaybe_. Besides, I have to get you something for Yule?! And why not sword related?" She ribbed, picking her work up once more. 

Strife rolled those glacial eyes and muttered, "Sure, sure I'll get you the measurements just don't tell me what it is." 

"Thank you~" she said sweetly, gently pillowing her head on the soft blond spikes. "Now, how'd that date go?" 

"Heather..." 

"I'm curious!" 

"...She was totally a _Turk_ in disguise,"

"Really?" 

Angeal smiled, listened for a little while longer and then spun on his heel to go home.

* * *

****

**V.**

* * *

Sephiroth attended the SOLDIER Exam in the hopes that Sgt. Strife would be there, conveniently ignoring the appointment booked for him by Professor Hojo's assistant. 

"Wolf, do you mind if I surprise them?" He inquired as he spotted the knives all three of his beloveds had mentioned Strife carried with him. 

"Sure, what the hell, why not? It'll save me the trouble of having to weed out the fanboys," Wolf grinned at the recruits, his golden eyes lighting up as the tension in the air rose. "Good luck!" 

"What?!" At least half of them squawked, a quarter bolted and the remained quarter formed up behind Strife in a defensive circle. 

Strife himself had pulled his knives but held them at the ready, waiting for the strike in order to aim. 

There. 

The tapetum lucidum Tseng had mentioned flashed under the helmet as Strife kept his stance loose. 

Sephiroth descended from above, using the flat of Masamune on those that had run at the first sign of trouble and also on the half that had essentially given away their position by screaming. 

The quarter he rounded on and became what he was on the battlefield. 

As Genesis had so succinctly put it— The Enemy. 

The quarter all flinched. 

Only Strife stood his ground, snarled back. 

Knife met nodachi and it was on— **Strike, parry, dodge, duck, parry!—**

They danced around the room and Sephiroth rejoiced. 

_Finally_ , someone who gave him a fight like his lovers! 

Strife collected his knives and continued throwing, parkouring across the balcony and over the buzzing lights to reach Sephiroth on the other side. 

**_-Bounce-dodge-cut-glide-teeth-bared-yes-yes-YES—_ **

It wasn't until Wolf gave the all-clear whistle that they stopped, chests heaving as they stood locked, knives blocking the edge of Masamune from touching Strife's left shoulder with a third knife pressed against Sephiroth's ribs. 

"Holy Knights, you two wanna get a room?!" Major Wolf chided as he herded the remaining SOLDIER candidates to the receptionist's desk. 

"No!" He and Strife snapped in conjunction, still drawing in deep breaths before they disengaged. 

"Thank... you... Sir," Strife managed after several more breaths. 

Sephiroth remembered somewhat guiltily that he _was_ fighting someone unenhanced. 

"No, Strife, thank you. I cannot wait to see you in the Program." 

"... Sir?" 

"How many people do you think can keep up with me unenhanced, Strife?" 

"None, sir." 

"I can now count one." 

"... Sir, I thought you were toying with me." 

"I was not and nor do I do so for SOLDIER candidates. You are an expert knife wielder and a most excellent sparring partner." 

"I mean, Zack and I practice, sir but-" 

"You know Zack?" He cocked his head to the side, considered Angeal's conclusion that Gen's Sgt. Strife and Zack's Spikey were the same and labeled it true. "You are the Spikey he keeps mentioning." 

"I'm sorry sir, I'm going to go _**murder** the Puppy, I'll be **right back**_ ," Strife said in a strangled tone, sheathing the undamaged knives with more force than necessary. 

"Alas, I require that the Puppy stay alive," he countered smoothly, "as there is only one of his kind. You may, however, maim him after your paperwork." 

The laugh Strife barked out made Sephiroth ruthlessly crush his own reaction to that competency. Strife had shown him no indication that he would appreciate such attention. "Memo to me; **maim** Zack _after_ the paperwork."

* * *

He browsed over his own paperwork, understanding his lover's insistence that it all be Fireballed into ash as he blew out a breath. 

""General, you missed your appointment with Medical today-"" Ms. Jones offered as he heard Hojo's faint damning of his secretary. 

"I was attending the SOLDIER Candidate Trials this morning, as countermanded by Director Deusericus," he lazily corrected. 

Lazard would probably back him up, the man hated Hojo just as much as he did. 

Sephiroth stepped outside of his office and drew Hojo's attention as he spotted familiar knives. The last thing he wanted was for Strife to draw—

"... would you consider being a research-" 

"No thank you, sir." The unflappable tone was belied by the way the wickedly sharp needle was flying through the tiny scales. 

"You are practically perfect," Hojo wheedled which was _begging_ by his standards. 

Sephiroth valiantly suppressed a smile, only to have it threaten at the corners of his mouth. 

"Then practically perfect I will remain, _sir_ ," Strife derided Hojo firmly by not paying any further attention to him, continuing the intricate work that was so close to being done that Sephiroth could practically taste it. 

Hojo got that terrible glint in his eye—the one that said the subject in his gaze was _in for it_ —and his hand flashed towards the work with a scalpel in it. 

The tiny blade fell from nerveless fingers as Strife held the longest knife in his artillery of them against Hojo's throat, this one practically a sword. 

... Come to think of it, it looked like one or at least part of one. "Strife, is that a sidewinder?" 

"It is, General, and I'm glad you were able to tell the difference. It's one of several such blades," Strife continued as though he weren't holding a blade on Sephiroth's childhood nemesis. "Could you do me a favor, sir, and sew this last bit? It's tradition that someone outside the warrior's family does the final set." 

"... I would be honored, Strife." He stepped around Hojo, gently scooped the work out of Strife's lap and examined the pattern. "Do I continue or do I finish this in my own manner?" 

"Finish it in your own way, sir." Here he turned his formidable attention to Hojo with a smile that sent a shudder through the room's occupants save for Sephiroth. "In my homeland, such an offense would have you dead and your body scoured in the salt of the earth. As this is ShinRa and not the mountains of my homeland, I will subject you to ShinRa justice and then my own. Sir, what is the punishment for intentionally damaging personal items worth more than the Professor's pay on a good day?" 

"I believe it's the deduction of the worth of the item from said damager's pay, a reduction of status and perhaps even a tribunal for said actions," 

"Hnn, mythril isn't common in the east, is it, Professor? The cost of such an armor is well worth millions here; each thread contains mythril and there are over a million strands per part. I know for a fact that ShinRa pays you an exorbitant amount to run your department. Would you prefer I take it all or exact my own justice?" Strife continued with the rictus smile, the glow of his eyes inhuman but not unfamiliar.

It was the same glow of a Nibel Wolf, the bigger ones that sat at temple statues and were smarter than the usual monsters. 

Sephiroth finished the edge with a pattern that meshed well with the scales and targeted the minute gaps without losing the armor's elasticity. 

"I'd take Strife over losing your paycheck, sir." He replied when Hojo gurgled at him with a gesture. "I have no authority over an Infantyman, sir, as he is not yet part of my department." 

"Damn... you... both... Kujata... take... you."

"What is a Summon to an Old God?" Strife scoffed as he lowered the sidewinder. "What is your reply, Professor." 

"Legal." 

"Very well, sir, so be it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, complain, ect.


	2. Needlepoint Precision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Animal and experiment deaths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm Baaaaaack~ Whoo the Muses are blazing bright today and I ripped through all of this in like three hours so uh enjoy with caution!
> 
> All credit for the yeeting of Hojo off the ShinRa Tower is due to Megpie71!

* * *

****

**+I.**

* * *

Cloud Strife, as Sephiroth gleefully learned during the tribunal, lived up to his name. 

He pulled incidents that Hojo had forgotten, pulled physicals from at least eighteen other SOLDIERs—Sephiroth's own amongst them.

How Strife had managed _**that**_ was beyond a miracle; he went on to legally tear apart everything Hojo had ever gained, manipulated or outright blackmailed for over the years. 

Nibel retribution would, he was sure, have been far easier on the Professor.

The patience which had borne fruit in an armor inches thick now served Cloud well as he dismantled everything Hojo had built; reputation and all. 

Sephiroth was safe, having proven his own worth separate from Hojo.

He was inordinately pleased about that one. 

Hojo had also been stripped of his positions and his credentials, no longer allowed to practice anything at all. 

Strife also tore into Hollander, so much so that the man was now fully focused on Genesis and Angeal as his sole purpose. 

When Cloud Strife was done with Hojo, the Professor looked as though someone had pulled him through several of his own experiments and then shoved him into a Behemoth enclosure as enrichment. 

Sephiroth hadn't stopped smiling since the whole ordeal had begun.

* * *

The new Head of the Science Department required that they check each and every one of Hojo's various "hidey holes" alongside the Turks. 

The brand new candidates worked under experienced SOLDIERs and even Sephiroth was given a candidate. 

He wondered who it might be when Cloud slunk into the room, looking sheepish as he adjusted the pitch black armored sleeve. 

"Is it okay if I wear it, sir?" 

Sephiroth blinked, saw for a moment the fractals of mythril that made up each individual piece until he shook his head to dispel the imagery. "So long as it holds together for long missions, it'll do." 

"... Thank you sir."

"Who were you originally assigned to?" 

"Ah, Major Wolf, sir and he told me to swap with whomever was meeting with you." 

"Hnn, to be fair Wolf's instincts are rarely ever wrong," Sephiroth admitted frankly, "and we work well in battle together." 

"Where are we going, sir?" 

"The West and I'm afraid you're also my teacher in regards to customs you know as I am... out of my depths." He blurted out. Oh, Zack would be death of him yet, encouraging the impulsive side of him. 

"Due to your campaign in the East, I know, sir. I'll do my best to remember." Cloud smiled and Sephiroth remembered that he was Cloud's superior; like it had mattered to the other three who had wriggled under all of his armor. "Sir, if you wouldn't mind, I would prefer to be addressed by my actual name." 

"Then please, do the same for me," Sephiroth resigned himself to living with the unwieldy thing he called a crush on Cloud. "Cloud." 

"Are we done flirting?" Tseng asked dryly from his corner and Sephiroth rolled his eyes at the Director's snide commentary. 

"Only until we bury you, Turk," Cloud agreed cheerfully. 

"... Noted." 

"Will someone please explain what is going on?" He asked as he pinched the bridge of his nose. 

"I intend to kill the Director of the Turks for insinuating that I'd enjoy killing on ShinRa's behalf if I joined the Turks-" 

"We said nothing of the sort, Strife,"

* * *

Despite their seemingly deep-seated hatred, Tseng and Cloud worked well together within his sight. Whatever bickering they did outside of it was none of his concern unless one of them returned with a shredded suit. 

"I offered to fix it for him but he's even pickier about his stitches than Ma is on a good day, Si-ephiroth. Sorry, sir, it's going to take a while." 

"Understandable." he pointed out as they picked up dinner at the tiny inn, cast several detection spells and ate when they all returned clear. "Wutai and the Nibel Range share similar armor sentiments,"

"Huh." Cloud managed around his mouthful, holding up a hand to hide the food. 

"Please, I've seen Zack eating, your table manners are more than fine, Cloud." Sephiroth informed him. 

Cloud chuckled after he'd swallowed his latest bite, "No shit. Hey, let's check the map of the area," 

"Strategizing over dinner," he replied with a teasing smile, "so romantic." 

"I-umm-No?!" Cloud flushed, fumbled the map and Sephiroth smoothed it out on the table not taken by their trays. "... Sir, are you propositioning me?" 

"No, I've already got three lovers, I don't need a fourth," he answered absently as he focused on the map. 

Cloud Strife, ferocious Nibel warrior, choked on his own spit and went into a cough attack that cleared briefly enough for a, "You're _gay_ sir?! No offense but-"

"I don't look the type?" 

"Nah, that's not it; you just broke about half of the Infantry," Cloud mentioned after clearing his throat with a glass of water. "And a good third of SOLDIER, they were so hoping you were single, sir." 

"Betting pools," he scoffed as they traced their current trail up and their fingers touched. "How much did you win?" 

"Mmm, a cool half-a-mil; not that I _need_ it after I flayed Hojo for everything he owned and then some." Cloud filled in as he tapped their next point. "Although I lost at least a quarter of that to Zack, who was way too smug about it, come to think of it... So, who?" 

"The other two Generals and Zack," he mentioned. 

"Okay," when no other questions were forthcoming, Sephiroth raised a brow, "what?" 

"Most people would be asking questions," 

"None of my business,"

"Hnn, how do we get here?"

"Through that pass, even though it says its closed," Cloud informed him.

* * *

It wasn't quite closed but it had snowed over shortly afterwards, leaving two tiny cabins side by side in the drifts. 

"Your assessment?" 

"We stay until it stops," Cloud said with a faint frown, "it'll take longer than two days." 

"I refuse to remain in a cabin with you, Strife," Tseng barked coolly. "I'll take that one." 

"Uh-huh, and invite the cute lioness that's been trailing us since we left the port in Corel. I see you Turk." 

"Well played, SOLDIER." Tseng fired back. "Elena, come here please." 

"Coming boss man!" She chirruped effortlessly, stepping out in a snow ghillie suit. 

Sephiroth rolled his eyes and said flatly, "Soundproof if you must but report in every five hours." 

"Noted. Enjoy your wolf, General," With that, the door snapped shut and the wash of the security trio Materia bubbled out from the cabin. 

Cloud opened the door to the other cabin and shook everything out, scouring it with several Esunas before he even let Sephiroth set foot in it. 

"What did he mean by that, Sephiroth?" He asked after lighting the fire and tugging more inside from the covered wood pile. 

"He thinks we're sleeping together," He supplied absently as he spotted the cast iron pot. "Hnn, are there any snares set? Should we be setting them?" 

Cloud, to his credit, didn't seem offended by the statement. "Any snares set are old and we could set up some new ones for Nibel Mus." 

"Teach me?" 

Cloud blinked, shrugged and then set to it with a will. He scraped the wire along the pines and set it up so that the Mus had no way to do anything but barrel down the tunnel and set a snap Libra. It would inform him if it was broken, which meant it had been successful. 

Sephiroth carefully watched, made at least three of his own and then chewed on the ShinRa protein bar, making a face at the texture. 

"Hate 'em too Seph. Hence the snares," Cloud huffed and then blanched, "I'm so sorry sir-" 

Sephiroth chuckled, gnawed a bit more on the bar and murmured, "Do I look offended Cloud?" 

"... No?" 

"Then no, I don't mind the shortening of my name. I'm well aware that it's a mouthful on a good day, let alone under circumstances such as ours." He informed Cloud bluntly. 

"Oh." 

The cold-flushed cheeks were adorable but Sephiroth only offered his other protein bar wordlessly as they trudged back to the cabin. 

He wanted to kiss them warm again.

* * *

The blizzard hit the morning after they'd checked the snares. 

Two mountain goats, four Mus, two Nibel Wolves and a Nibel Dragon yearling Sephiroth had killed out of self defense after it had chewed off its own foot trying to escape. 

Cloud taught him how to skin and salt the hides so that they could be tanned later. The Nibel Dragon was bright red and the scaling had left behind more than a handful. The pointed edges of the red scales faded into black and made his fingers itch to put onto his duster. 

"Why do I feel the need to use the scales?" He queried after stirring the thick stew going in the pot over hot coals, not fire. 

"Happens sometimes," came the easy reply. "I'll be trimming mine in wolf fur, when we get to better climes for tanning." 

Sephiroth peeled off his duster and shrugged on his standard issue SOLDIER sweater. 

He took apart the leather to an extent, leaving the side seams he'd made in Hakurei Valley and splitting the tails so that they swirled. The top half he stitched a different way, using the scales and some borrowed mythril thread from Cloud. 

Sephiroth dug into his inventory, deep enough that he was pulling out old Wutainese explosive tags and then he found them; Griffin feathers in gleaming white and brindle nearly the length of his arm and perfect for whatever his mind was telling him to do. 

After he was done with the creative fugue he blinked in surprise. 

The scales had been placed in intricate formations, the feathers blending into the tails better than his initial process had had in mind. 

"Is it always like this?" 

"Only for those of us who had no armor or didn't know our traditions. It runs in the blood and I think maybe your Ma was one of us or at least partially so," Cloud pointed out absently. "Come eat before you fuss at it anymore."

* * *

The wind howled around the tiny cabin but Cloud had reinforced any cold spots or sealed them with a quick Restore. 

Sephiroth was warm, was happily weaving mythril thread into the smaller Griffin feathers when the thought tickling at the back of his mind meandered forward for consideration. 

He didn't _**need**_ a fourth lover but he _wanted_ one anyway. 

It took him a moment and then he settled back into the exceptionally squishy chair, fingers winding the thread tighter as he resumed his work. He was going to sew these to the collar, the black thread barely hiding the mythril core.

Cloud looked up from his own work, the scales gleaming like fire as he wove them into a thigh guard for the other side of his armor. 

"Gil for your thoughts, Seph?" 

"No thoughts at all, I'm afraid," he snorted, internally facepalming at the way he'd echoed Genesis. "Save the Gil for something a little more worthy." 

"More worthy, huh? How many of the little ones do you have left?" Cloud asked, snipping the last of the thread with a pair of tinted mythril snips. 

"Tell me what they're for and you can bargain for them," Sephiroth teased.

"I'll be adding them to the scales," Cloud leaned forward on the ottoman, his fingers tracing the dark underside, "here." 

Sephiroth set aside his feathers to look, gently gripping the scales to see the tiny holes bored for the feathers. He looked up and found Cloud's face a hairsbreadth from his own.

"You can have them," he breathed out, ignoring the way that his face flushed. 

It was the situation, he had more control than that—

When asked about it later, he couldn't tell who had moved first but the kiss? 

Oh the kiss would sustain him for a lifetime. 

He leaned into it, relished the way Cloud slid his fingers into his hair and the way Cloud absolutely left him breathless. 

"You, umm," Cloud licked at his lips and Sephiroth chased the tongue into Cloud's mouth, "said you didn't need-hah-a fourth-" 

"I've wanted you since we battled," he confessed as he licked at his own lips. "I told the others and they encouraged it. That is," 

"If I want three other obscenely hot men kissing me on the daily?" Cloud filled in wryly. 

"Hnn," 

"I may not like the Turk but I think he's right," he continued, "looks like I am the General's wolf." 

"Can you live with that?" He asked as he gently put aside the thigh armor on the same table and hauled Cloud into his lap. "Being ours?" 

"The others..?" 

"Oh they want you just as much and we play for keeps. I am... jealous but not when it comes to those three." He admitted. "Genesis spoke of you. I didn't want to believe him that you were–as he put it– dangerous and unfairly hot and yet," Sephiroth kneaded the hips he had in his grip.

"Here we are?" Cloud laughed, "I still have your handkerchief, just so you know." 

"I'll make you one of your own," he promised as Cloud leaned down for another kiss. 

The smugness of the Turks when they moved on he could have done quite without, frankly.

* * *

Sephiroth so rarely let another person touch his hair but Cloud was so gentle with it. 

He brushed it and played with it until Sephiroth often fell asleep to such attentions but he awoke one morning, halfway to through the mountain mission, with braids in his hair. 

He left them in, groggily accepted the hot tea from Cloud and slowly sipped the liquid in their room. 

ShinRa was stingy even with him being a General and so one room each it was for them and the Turks. 

One bed too but that Sephiroth didn't mind quite as much as he'd publically protested. 

"I can take them out, if you want."

"... Do they mean something?" 

Cloud's hand paused halfway to his hair and curled against the warm ceramic of the mug. "They're family braids, since we don't know your Ma. Mostly because my hair isn't long enough for them." 

"These," here Sephiroth gently pulled them forward, astonished by the braids, "what do they mean?" 

"My surname and those of your other lovers, since you don't have one." here Cloud shrugged, "The warrior braid, the one for beloved but I don't have anything but mythril to tie into it. They're a Strife tradition but ShinRa only allows SOLDIERs to grow out their hair so I had to wait." 

"Show me." He insisted, "so I can return the favor." 

The smile that lit Cloud's face up had Sephiroth on cloud-ha!-nine for the rest of the day.

* * *

By the time they'd made it to Cloud's hometown, Sephiroth was stumbling through basic Nibel and haltingly introduced himself to Cloud's Ma in his own tongue. 

"Oh, bless your heart, you're tryin'," she laughed in Common. "You're one of us, huh?" 

"Ma, that's General Sephiroth. He was born in th' firehazard," Cloud hooked his thumb in a general direction. 

Mrs. Strife snorted as she drawled, "And the other two skulkin' around my gate?" 

"Turks, Ma," and then Cloud was launching into a Nibel rant that Sephiroth lost the meaning of after a moment. He returned to Common after blowing out a breath, "We're here for his "hidey-holes" an' I was wondering if Teef was still doin' the whole guide thing?" 

"She does and she's finished up her armor as well." 

Sephiroth purred faintly at the sight of a fierce grin on Cloud's face. " _Excellent_."

* * *

Teef was short for Tifa, specifically Cloud's best friend, and Sephiroth wanted to snarl at her familiar touching. 

She said something in Nibel, something Sephiroth was almost sure was derogatory before Cloud flushed from his roots until the collar of his armor. 

" _Tifa, don't you dare-_ " 

"I **said** that you fulfilled baby Cloud's dreams, you should see his room—" 

Cloud growled and clapped a hand over her mouth but not before Sephiroth caught her meaning. 

"Ah. Is that so, _Cloud_?" He crooned, absolutely teasing his newest lover. 

"You're never seeing my-" 

"The Inn's been booked by the creepy suits, afraid you're gonna have to bunk there," Tifa chirruped effortlessly, giving Sephiroth a wink. "It's gonna be too dark to head up anyways." 

"Damn you Tifa," Cloud hissed but wasn't really meaning it, sort of like Angeal and Genesis's play fighting. 

"You'll be thanking me later~" she sing-songed, turning on a booted foot and heading to another house along the main strip. 

"I hate her," Cloud grumbled as he headed back to the Strife household. "Hate her soooo much," 

"Do you?" 

Cloud paused mid-step, the side cape and the thigh armor ruffling as they slid across his thighs. "Not really? She's been teasing me about you for a while." 

"Sarcasm then," 

"Mm, more or less," Cloud agreed as he knocked on the door. "Ma, Inn's full of Turks, you mind if we stay?" 

""Not at all, I'll make up the guest room for the General-"" 

Cloud's cheeks blushed and Sephiroth wanted to kiss the high spots of color but his beloved continued, "Kinda not, umm, necessary Ma." 

Mrs. Strife's face popped out from behind the stairwell. "If you're sayin' what I think you're sayin' Storm Cloud, you best bet there's gonna be a guest bed." 

"... yes Ma." 

"Yes ma'am." 

"Hmm, I like you, General. You've got some good manners and sense."

* * *

Sephiroth awoke to warmth plastered along his front, disoriented for a moment before it came rushing back. 

Cloud was tucked under his chin and he pressed an absent kiss to his beloved's hair before a noise made him summon Masamune. 

It was Mrs. Strife and she rose a brow at his defensive stance before she shook her head. 

"My apologies, Mrs. Strife," he breathed out quietly. He pushed Masamune back into the ether, slowly detangling himself from Cloud, shoving a body pillow in as a replacement. 

Sephiroth followed her down the stairs and fiddled with the Strife name braid as she poured two cups of coffee and set one down opposite of her with a decisive thump. "Come here," He settled in, cast an absentminded Libra to test for poison and then blinked at her faint snort. "I'm not going to poison ShinRa's Silver General because he was holding my son like a favorite stuffed animal." 

"No?" He poured the milk, plopped in two sugar cubes and accepted the spoon to stir it into a caramel color. 

"Not when you make him that happy," she smiled softly, "It's about what's up there. Folks come down... different if they encounter the thing in the Reactor. Brace yourself and Cloud. I don't know if it'll affect your Turk compatriots." 

"... Understood." 

Blue eyes so like Cloud's looked him over, skimmed the braids and then the mythril laced one last. "Do you know what that one means?" 

"Beloved?" 

"Oh, Cloud," she shook her head and corrected, "that means you're Pack. He was," here Mrs. Strife paused and scraped back her bangs. "He was Fenrir-blessed, my boy. An Old God of the Range; not beholden to the traditions of Summons but something _more_." 

"More?" He echoed before he drank. 

"My son is a Beserker. He will always be better with blades, he will fight beyond death and now you have become something to him that he can never take back. I can only hope you'll feel the same." 

"I rarely share and rarer still is the soul to capture my full attention, ma'am. I may not know my family but my loyalty runs through my blood all the same. My devotion is absolute." He admitted quietly as he stared at his coffee. 

"Good, you'll need it."

* * *

Tifa took a rock and knocked out the rickety bridge they were supposed to have been crossing. "That thing's even more of a hazard than the ShinRa Mansion; we'll take the long way round." 

Cloud noticed his headache halfway up the small trail. 

"Seph?" 

"My head hurts," 

"Come here," Cloud braided mythril into the Strife family braid and the ache lessened. "Ma said we might be affected so I asked for Fenrir's blessing." 

"Thank you," he pressed a small kiss to Cloud's forehead and tucked the Griffin feather headpiece into Cloud's hair, the one he'd made back in the tiny cabin, securing it with a bobby pin borrowed from Elena. 

_**MY SON, COME TO ME.**_

Sephiroth hissed at the pain spike and shoved at whatever it was instead of sinking to his knees, _Who are **you** to be making demands?_

 ** _I AM YOUR MOTHER._**

_No Mother would hurt her child._ he fired back coldly, lacing his fingers with Cloud's the higher they went. 

_**TOGETHER WE WILL RULE. YOU CAN EVEN KEEP THE PUPPET WHOSE HAND YOU ARE HOLDING.**_

_He is **no** puppet! Neither am I!_ Sephiroth physically snarled and the rest of their small company backed away from him. 

"She's trying with you too, huh?" Cloud scoffed. "Creepy mind-thing keeps trying to tell me she's my Ma and well, I already _have one_ down in the village so she can fuck right off." 

"I'll apologize later to the new Director but I'm killing that thing." 

"Not if I get to her first," Cloud swore, eyes flashing with the tapetum lucidum.

* * *

The horrors inside were purely Hojo's doing but what sent Sephiroth reeling was that they had plaques.

**Subject S: Variant 1-6**

****

**Subject S: Variant 7-12**

They were unmistakably clones, of varying sizes, of Sephiroth himself. 

Most of them were dead or dying in the tanks. He summoned Masamune with a blank expression and killed them. 

A gloved hand on his face made him realize that he'd been crying the whole time. 

"I'm going to kill Hojo and then Regen him so you can punt him off the ShinRa Tower for his sins." Cloud swore quietly. "... After we kill that thing that's giving us a headache." 

"Agreed." 

He marched up the stairs of the Reactor, where the mind-speaking thing was suspended in a Mako tank. 

Cloud pulled out one of his needles and it grew into a massive blade that was dark red with a gilded, pointed hand guard. "So cometh Ragnarok, ending of endings for the false Goddess seeking claim upon Him." 

The blade sank into the tank and directly into the false creature's chest, her eyes blazing as she reached for Sephiroth. He stabbed her with Masamune, even as the shrieking became unbearable. 

_**TRAITOR, TRECHEROUS THIEF—**_

"There is no theft, false thing, save for that of hearts freely given. Not that you would know of such things," Cloud snarled back as he twisted Ragnarok and shoved with all of his strength. 

Sephiroth followed with Masamune, "I cannot be a traitor if I never knew you; I cannot be beholden to one who never claimed me until it was too late." 

_**I AM THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS, OF PARADISES LOST-GKK!—**_

"There is no Paradise, no Promised Land but what we make of it, wretched creature." Sephiroth spoke quietly, assured of his path when she slowly wilted as the Mako drained around their feet. 

"Shield yourself, we're pulling the blades and who knows what else she has up her sleeve." Cloud ordered flatly. 

Five bubbles popped up as Masamune and Ragnarok were removed with great force, dropping the so-called destroyer of worlds into the bottom of her tank. 

The headache vanished and Sephiroth sighed in relief. "It was her." 

"Good, now we sort through the fire-hazard after we burn everything in here." 

"Won't it affect the town?" Sephiroth blurted, concerned for Mrs. Strife. 

"Nah, we've been running solar for years up here before the Reactor came. We just let you all set it up to look useful, I guess." Tifa shrugged. "Umm, actually, should I even be in here?" 

"You are our guide and therefore must accompany us," Tseng countered, "however; we will require you to sign an NDA once we are in town again. None of this is to be revealed within our lifetimes unless its declassified." 

"Unfortunately, Teef, he's right." 

"... Understandable, given that this is kinda fucked up." She agreed with a shrug. Her armor gleamed in the glowing light of the Mako still on the floor. 

Elena scooped her up before the Mako could touch her soles. "Can't have you ruining such a nice pair of boots ma'am." 

Tifa flushed and Cloud snickered, "Y'know, she always was a little more into the ladies."

* * *

The Mansion was given a thorough comb-over and a man was found in a coffin; the coffin itself likely from a time when ShinRa had still employed ethics rather than Hojo's brand of morality. 

"Go away." 

"Noooope," and there was Zack's terrible influence in Cloud, who popped the 'p' loudly on purpose. "See, the way I figure it, you've been fucked over by Hojo or some other crummy fuck in ShinRa's employ. We intend to launch Hojo off the top of the ShinRa Tower after I kill and Regen him." 

"... You're killing Hojo?" 

"We are," 

"Then by all means, I have already called first kill," the man rasped as he stood up and stepped out of the coffin with barely more than a slight hitch. 

"If not his experiments who gets first call, how old is _your_ claim?" Sephiroth sniped back. 

The crimson gaze pinned him without much effort as the man replied, "Roughly twenty five years old, possibly older. He took my wife and shot me point blank over her child." 

"May we inquire as to the child's name?" Tseng inquired silkily. 

"... It was Sephiroth, the last time she spoke to me." The man stated flatly.

Sephiroth took in the man's face and realized that Hojo's ambitions and madness had manifested in him claiming to be Sephiroth's true Father. 

"May I introduce General Sephiroth of the ShinRa Electric Company?" Elena politely and yet pointedly asked. 

The man's expression fell and there was briefly a wrathful one before it settled into something approaching pride. "... You look like her." 

"My Mother is not JENOVA, no false creature laying an equally false claim. Would you speak of her?" He begged quietly. 

"I am Vincent Valentine and I will do better than speak of her. I will show you her resting place." Valentine introduced himself and then swept out of the room, "After I burn all the drivel Hojo wrote for you to find, that is." 

"'Drivel'?" Cloud repeated. 

"... Indeed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, complain, ect.


	3. Testing the Velocity of Dragon Dung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: CHARACTER DIES REPEATEDLY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackles* ALL DONE! 
> 
> Boy I had fun with this last one. 
> 
> Enjoy with caution~

* * *

**—Epilogue—**

* * *

Dr. Jakobs took one look at the dead samples and then at Valentine himself before she shrugged, "I was hoping for dead ones, seeing as how most of the live samples he left behind were unethical to let remain alive." 

They deposited sheaves of notes, each Project filed into several boxes and each full of Hojo's depraved raving. 

"Don't read those all at once, they nearly drove Sephiroth mad when we read them together," Cloud warned as they set down box after box after box on Sephiroth's own files. 

Dr. Jakobs paled and then determination mantled over her shoulders. "I'll read them one box at a time with breaks inbetween." 

"... The creature labeled JENOVA may... have extra..." Sephiroth grimaced, "wounds. As a result of said readings." 

Dr. Jakobs appeared to make a mental note of it and looked Sephiroth over. 

"This is a new look, sir." 

"... I'm embracing my culture, which has been reintroduced to me." 

"Oh, how fun, sir. Your exam will be one week from today, standard physical." 

Sephiroth remembered Hojo's 'standard physical' and replied, "May I have someone in the room with me?" 

"Certainly, though whomever is present should be allowed confidential information, sir." She shrugged and popped open the tape with a box cutter. "I'll get to reading these before lunch. From your reaction, sirs, that would be wise."

* * *

The whispered commentary about his braids and the way his duster now looked made him want to snarl. 

""That hair, I didn't know he could braid it."" 

""Holy Ifrit, how intricate are those things??"" 

""Are those Griffin feathers?"" 

""Why does Strife look like he belongs in a matching set?"" 

That one had him turning, halting the way for the two accompanying him. 

"Seph, leave it. Talk is only talk," Cloud hummed serenely. "It's your armor, you can do with it what you want. They're merely used to a different version of you." 

"... If you say so, Cloud." 

"Trust me, they'll say much the same once my hair grows out. Shouldn't take too long now considering it was much shorter before our mission," his beloved Wolf shrugged.

Sephiroth breathed in, inhaled his true Father and his beloved, and breathed out with his expression somewhere between rage and serenity. 

The crowd split before them, the whispering fading into a nonissue as he tapped the button for his shared apartment.

* * *

Only Genesis was in, lounging in stolen sweats (Angeal's to be precise) and Sephiroth's bathrobe. 

"Hi, honey, back from your-Oh. Oh this is _nice_." Genesis stood up and touched the scale pattern and the feathers, reverently letting the braids slip through his fingers with a thoughtful look. "This the real you?" 

"Mmn." 

"It agrees with you but whose the cutie who we haven't been encouraging you to go after?" 

"That is my Father, the one who is of my blood." He replied, scooping Genesis into a long hug, burying his face in the crook of Gen's neck to inhale the soothing scent of dumbapple shampoo. 

"You smell absolutely like you've had a weeks worth of travel but I love you anyways," Gen chided even as he brushed one of Sephiroth's bangs to the side and planted a sweet peck. 

Sephiroth purred softly, relishing in the long stroked against his hair. 

"As Sephiroth is busy man-handling me into cuddles, I'm General Genesis Rhapsodos. I'm one of three other lovers he has aside from cutie-pie Cloud. You cool with that?" 

"... So long as you love him, I find you adequate. I would be a hypocrite if I did not admit to such arrangements, albeit with more lovers than I took in the past." Valentine snorted. "Sephiroth, I shall see what there is to be done in locating Hojo for our plan. You will find me with the Turks." 

"We'll seek you out, Valentine." Cloud answered as Sephiroth nibbled on Gen's neck under the cover of his own hair. 

"... Very well." 

The click of the door meant that he could appreciate Genesis all the more, cradling his face in a gentle kiss that was returned with equal fervor. 

"Gen, you've already met Cloud." 

"Would you like to join the cuddle pile, pretty Wolf?" Genesis teased, opening his arm to invite. Cloud ducked into it and leaned up for a kiss that turned filthy in about five seconds flat. "Hmm, excellent choice. How did it happen?" 

"... We were holed up in a tiny cabin-" 

"Oh-ho-ho-" Genesis sounded practically gleeful. 

"No, no, no, you're _telling_ it wrong-" Cloud butted in and Sephiroth couldn't help the laughter that bubbled forth.

* * *

Freshly showered—after Cloud taught him how to do the seven strand braid of beloved using Cloud's own hair—he put one into Genesis's hair as well, tucked behind the ear and capped with a teeny-tiny Griffin hatchling feather. 

Genesis frowned, stroked it and then pouted, "But I want it in the front, Seph." 

"You're certain?" 

"I have to beat the Puppy to it, of course." Gen pointed out with mirth wafting off of him. "Besides, I need to be able to dramatically shove it to the side to kiss you when you come back from missions." 

Cloud had laughed at that, both of them shared a wordless look of _we need to hear that more often_.

* * *

Angeal came home to them half lounging, half kissing, exploring each other gently. 

He leaned down, pecked both Genesis and Sephiroth and then smiled at Cloud. "May I?" 

"Of course," Cloud reached up and wound his arms around 'Geal's neck, the soft sniks of several kisses making Sephiroth purr. "Is it weird that I don't feel weird?" 

"Mmn, like it better this way, feels like you're folding in." He protested as he tugged at Angeal. "C'mere." 

"No, no, I need to shower and put the Buster up and then start on dinner, Zack'll be here any minute now," 'Geal chided but softened his words with more kisses scattered amongst the three of them. 

Cloud lolled over Sephiroth's lap and hummed, "Hate to see him leave," 

"Love to watch him go," Gen finished with a wistful sigh. "Could bounce a Gil off that ass." 

"Too flat, it needs to be Zack's-" he countered, a smile tugging at his lips. 

"What's this about my ass then!?" Zack hollered from the doorway, the thump of his boots hitting the floor as he peeled out of them. 

"We were talking about how pretty Ang is when he walks away and Seph disagreed with me that we can bounce a Gil off of his ass." Gen filled him in as he tugged Zack into their pile. 

"Hi Cloud," Zack chirruped after quite thoroughly kissing Genesis, "... Waitaminute. Holy fuck, does that mean I can kiss you silly now!?" 

"Mm, it does," Sephiroth agreed as Cloud rolled over onto his back and flexed to lever himself up without the use of his hands. "Hmm, maybe not," 

"Se-he-ph," Cloud giggled as Sephiroth trailed a finger up his abs. "No, I gotta give Zack a kiss. I was such an ass when we met," 

"You Thunder-tapped me! Like, seriously, I was so ready to prank war you but then you had to go and be all-Hmm~" Cloud kissed him quiet and Zack's hands spanning the breadth of Cloud's hips was quite the sight to behold. 

The low whistle that 'Geal losed made Zack pull back briefly. 

"Hi Ang~ I caught me a Spikey!" 

"So you did," they all glanced at the way Cloud had tucked himself under Zack's chin. "Gen, dinner duty," 

"But-" 

"Seph is not allowed in the kitchen, you know that." 

Cloud broke into a full on cackle. "Oh, yes. Good rule." 

"Oh Goddess, he tried cooking again?" Genesis winced and well, _Sephiroth_ couldn't help it if one of the Mus had ended up in a hole in the ceiling of the tiny cabin. 

"... It was slippery." 

"He put a Mu _**through the ceiling while skinning the poor bastard.**_ " Cloud clarified and Zack started laughing, gently shaking Cloud in his spot on Zack's chest. 

"Oh. Oh no," Gen squirmed out of the pile, a half-hearted ruffle of Zack's hair, a stroke to Cloud's cheek and then a cheeky tug to Sephiroth's warrior braid before he made it to the kitchen. 

"Oh yes. Somehow the skin was ungloved and the Mu itself was hanging from the hole, dropped right into the pot I held under it. I banned him right afterwards." 

"The great Silver General relegated to wood resupply and vegetables," he huffed, "I can do everything _but_ cook. Perfect my ass," 

"It is perfect," Angeal teased from the kitchen, "Just your ability in the kitchen isn't." 

"Can we not debate the merits of my ass?" Sephiroth sassed back, "We have more important topics-" 

"Like the fact that we can't decide if you can bounce a Gil off of Angeal's ass-" Zack giggled and Angeal's shoulders shook in the kitchen as he laughed. 

"We'll try it _after_ dinner."

* * *

Angeal's was, sadly, a little too flat to bounce the Gil off of it. 

Vindication.

* * *

Of all the places to find Hojo, Sephiroth almost didn't believe it.

The slums in Sector Five, on his knees in a ruined church filled with flowers and clutching at an irate young women's soft, pink dress. 

The only thing more out of place were the flowers themselves. 

Color him surprised when Cloud spotted the young woman, made a noise he'd come to know as pleased surprise and started chattering away in _Nibel_ of all things. 

The woman wrenched her skirt from Hojo's hands, stepped around him with a sheer look of disgust and hugged Cloud. 

Sephiroth rumbled softly, causing Valentine to raise a brow. 

"... Are you not high in his esteem?" 

He startled at that, turning his full attention to the crimson gaze. "I'm not sure." 

"Then look," 

Sephiroth looked and they were touching foreheads, a gaze of blue and green looking at him with affection in the former, something approaching fondness in the latter. 

"You are adorable, you know that?" Cloud reeled him in, pulling away from her to give him several tiny kisses and then smiling. "This is Aerith and I think I may have found you more family." 

"Huh?" 

"She's your cousin by blood. I know you tend to ignore Hojo on principle but he was muttering something about how disappointed Aerith's aunt would be that she didn't persue the sciences and well. The only other person who looks like her is your Ma." 

"She wore a yellow ribbon," 

"Lucrecia didn't like talking about her sister but she had one. It would surprise me very little if you were in fact blood relatives." Valentine pointed out dryly as he stepped on Hojo's back with his sabaton. "You, fool, are not going anywhere else. We have a date with the ShinRa Tower's roof." 

"Oo, oo, I call third dibs after Mr. Valentine and Sephiroth!" 

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be fourth," Cloud agreed easily.

"Why?" 

She smiled softly but Sephiroth rose a brow at the sharp spike in hatred in her scent, "You're not the only one he took a knife to," 

"By all means, I'll Regen him myself for you." He agreed, spotting the old needle scars.

* * *

The sight Hojo made fighting against Valentine's gauntlet was one Sephiroth would never forget, committing it to memory. 

" _ **HOW?! HOW ARE YOU STILL LIVING?!?**_ " Hojo howled as the inexorable tread of Valentine continued up the Tower. 

"I am but a shadow, a monster of your creation." Valentine stated coldly. "Even death cannot stop a Turk." 

"There any truth to that?" Cloud inquired wryly. 

"Considering Turks fake death more times than I care to keep track of, yeah," Aerith snorted. He found her quite the conversationalist, keeping up with him and then she absently reached for his hand—

_**—~Hello-welcome-back-here-is-home-AngealGenesisZackCloud-here-is-family-AERITH-VALENTINE-MOTHER~—** _

Sephiroth stopped mid-stride, peeled off his glove and laced their fingers seeking more of the feeling of warmth and belonging that spread through him. 

"Oh! Oh, of course you are, now that we're ride of _Her_ ," she hummed. 

"Stabbed her myself," he blurted and was about to wince when Aerith's embrace stopped him. 

"Good job," 

Valentine hovered, the gauntlet grip all the tighter on the disheveled lab coat, staining it red. "... I see our speculation held some truth to it. One more sin for you to atone for Hojo." 

"She never _said_ —Gkk!" 

"Would she? When she saw you idolizing her planet's downfall?" Valentine spat back, crimson glowing brighter. "Why she perhaps fled to me? She was not perfect-not by any means-but she was smarter than _you_ and for that I can perhaps forgive her crimes." 

He resumed the drag, the snap of the cloak somehow all the more menacing.

* * *

Hojo fought to stay on the roof, grabbing at the cloak before Valentine shot him a withering look. 

"Take your first death with some dignity; at least no one will **desecrate** _your_ remains, merely revive them." Valentine snarled, " _ **Stand up**_." 

Hojo pulled a scalpel from his coat and Valentine shot him point blank, the triple boom not hiding the way Hojo tripped over the edge and dropped. 

All four of them leaned over the side and watched the body drop in a bizarre twist of comedy, whereupon it landed in a spreadeagled position. Sephiroth scooped up Cloud and drifted down, Valentine following with Aerith in a crimson swirl of fabric. 

"Cura, level 3." Cloud hummed and they watched as Hojo's mangled frame knit back together to a perfect whole. "Regen, level 1." 

Hojo gasped, clawing at the concrete helipad and then screamed when Valentine resumed his grip, the trip back up in the elevator silent but for the hitched gasps of Hojo. 

When Hojo looked to him for respite, Sephiroth gave the same cruel smile the man himself had gifted Sephiroth during experiments. 

"Did anyone time the drop?" Aerith asked out of curiosity. 

"I can," Cloud volunteered, "PHS has one built in." 

"Oh, _wonderful_!" Aerith clapped her hands together and bounced in place, the swish of her dress endearing her further to Sephiroth. 

Hojo turned to Cloud, opened his mouth and then immediately closed it at the serene expression on Cloud's face. He spun on his knees to Aerith, having given Valentine up as a source of pity. 

She knelt down and in a voice laced with strychnine, she said, "Mercy is not something you'll _find_ here, Hojo. Three of the four were experiments to you, the fourth thinks you're a pile of dragon excrement. Stop trying to beg and receive your punishment with dignity, as Valentine suggested." 

Hojo looked up at her, missing his glasses at this point, having lost them during the initial fall. "Not even from you, Cetra?" 

"Especially not from me," she countered, "I remember what you did to us." 

"... Ah." 

"This is the way to atone for your many sins," Valentine sniped carefully as he dragged Hojo back to the rooftop and stood him up. "He's all yours, Sephiroth." 

The elegant bow made him smile and then he summoned Masamune from the ether, edging Hojo close to the edge before he executed a perfect move that sliced Hojo in half. Both halves fell as Hojo's expression slid from confusion to terror to outright fear. 

Cloud tapped the timer on the PHS, the tiny click bringing him back to reality. 

"How was it?" Aerith asked, a staff having materialized in her hands from the same ether as Masamune. 

Sephiroth thought about it for a moment and the wave of relief nearly knocked him over. "Relived, I think?"

"That's good~" 

The splat of the body had Cloud crowing, "Four minutes and fifteen seconds! Well within the Regen range," 

"I'm obliged to take my cousin for the next one," he mentioned, offering his arms to her. 

"Yeah, yeah," Cloud waved it off and bounced his way down the Tower, between the columned sides. 

Aerith was light as a feather, Sephiroth's hold on her dress tight enough for her modesty but light enough not to bruise her. 

"Cura... I'm not sure?" 

"Level 3 usually gets everything back in order but I can call up Phoenix Downs so that we're not wasting Regens?" Aerith hummed, a wisp of flame inbetween her fingers that turned into a familiar feather. 

"Huh, that _does_ make things easier," he admitted with a shrug. "Cura, Level 3." 

The crunch as Hojo knit back together was ignored before he gasped and then started to run. 

Sephiroth caught his arm, wrenching it out of place with the speed he'd moved at, clicking his tongue. "Tsk-tsk-tsk. Running makes it **worse** , _Father_. You know that don't you?" 

Hojo gurgled in fear as Sephiroth began the journey back up the Tower, bounding between the Tower's sides as Cloud had done not a moment earlier. 

Hojo turned to Cloud, having exhausted his options with the rest of them. "Do you not have any honor? How can you let them kill a defenseless man?!" 

"You did _precisely that, once upon a time,_ and now he's back to kill you himself out of sheer rage. You tortured Aerith and Sephiroth for a good chunk of their childhoods. You _tried to cut my armor, my family tradition for millenia_ and its _**me**_ that has no honor?" Cloud stated with ice white fury lacing his tone. "Godless, hopeless, helpless and _still you beg_. Even as fertilizer you wouldn't be of much use." 

"Actually..." Aerith smiled as she materialized a bladed staff out of white ether, "that's not such a bad idea after all! I'll make you tulips, orange ones and purple ones. You don't even deserve sentience after this~" 

The way she chirruped it juxtaposed with the way Hojo's head slid off of his body, right where the MP nerve started, sweetness mixed with blood. Aerith kicked the two halves over to watch them shatter upon the already soaked pavement. 

She'd been spattered and at least three kerchiefs were immediately offered. "Aww, you guys are so sweet." 

"Ma raised someone with manners." 

"... Kaa-san did the same. I suspect Sephiroth's etiquette lessons are at play here." Valentine offered wryly as Aerith soaked Sephiroth's and wiped herself off before a swift combination cleaned the rest of it off of her, the MP scent marking it as Cloud's. 

"What? I've got MP in reserve 'cause she's pulling Downs," Cloud challenged as Sephiroth shook his head. 

"Well, I don't suppose you have a solution for bringing him back up here?" 

"Sadly, no," Cloud pouted as he made to jump off the Tower again. 

"I do," The Director of Urban Development, Reeve Tuesti offered, "so long as I get to do the same to the President." 

"Deal," Sephiroth blurted. "I've been meaning to tell him to take a long walk off a short pier lately,"

* * *

The President screamed much louder than Hojo even if he took less time to fall. 

Music to everyone's ears, really; including those of the brand new President who dropkicked the old one with a viciousness previously seen only in Dark Nation.

* * *

In Nibelheim, a swordsman is defined not by his deeds but by his patience. 

In order to instill this, a swordsperson must first pick up a needle and thread.

Do not forget the needle. 

It is important.

* * *

**_So cometh Ragnarok, ending of endings for the false Gods seeking claim upon the Beserker_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, complain, ect.


End file.
